Her Dream Job
by shallowness
Summary: A Monday morning in the life of Ginny Weasley, Holyhead Harpy.


Summary: A Monday morning in the life of Ginny Weasley, Holyhead Harpy.

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't profit.  
Author's Note: 711 words.

 **Her Dream Job: shallowness**

It's always an adjustment to come back to Holyhead after a weekend in the Burrows where she's been immersed in the smells and spells of home. Ginny doesn't truly feel the process is complete until she's changed into her training robes and is grabbing her broom to go pitchside. Suddenly she isn't anyone's daughter or sister, she's 'Weasley', and the air is briny and fresh.

Despite it being a Monday morning and despite the effect of the inevitable light drizzle on the temperature, Gwenog is raring to go and demanding they all do their stretches. Ginny has developed a theory about Gwenog being part-dragon. The more stories she hears from Charlie about his job and the more she sees of her captain and hears her, spitting out orders that sound a bit like threats, the more she believes it. The next time she sees Luna, Ginny promises herself, she'll fly the theory past her. Not Hermione.

Anyway, stretching is good for shaking the cobwebs off. Ginny feels a little warmer before getting on her Nimbus and flying up towards the hoops to begin doing the usual drills.

Ginny has been a Harpy long enough now to feel like she belongs. At first, she was still the fan she'd always been of the league's only all-female team. Getting the job offer had set her heart rate off just as much as getting her Hogwarts letter. There are moments, of course, when all this still seems like a dream, but every time she straps on a pair of gloves or gets a Quaffle through a hoop turns her into more of a Harpy.

Match days in team robes are different again, but all the other days that build up to the big ones are the days that make it more real. Days like this, when she floats up alongside Valmai and the others, ignoring the drizzle thanks to a couple of Charms, ready to graft. There's ducking and diving to do as the Bludgers come their way. It's hard flying, weaving in patterns and formations they haven't quite mastered yet. Concentration is vital and Ginny loves it.

She loves the sea and the mountains where Greens slumber as a setting, more than she expected. It reminds her of Hogsmeade, even though she could rattle off the differences.

She loves working with this team, knowing when Val is going to veer left, and covering for her; likes the whoops when someone pulls off something spectacular and the sympathetic looks when it doesn't work and Gwenog starts to roar. That's the thing with training, you can try again until it works or tweak it or ditch it.

Ginny's always found herself in teams, from Dumbledore's Army to being a Weasley. And here, at least, she isn't the baby girl who was always left 'till last unless if Bill was feeling soft or the twins were at war with Perce. She isn't even the youngest on the team any more. She isn't a leader, either, with the full weight of strategizing and the consequences of getting it wrong on her shoulders.

And there's the Golden Snitch at the edges of her attention, beckoning her, even though she isn't a Seeker, not yet, but she thinks she's not entirely mental to dream that she could be one professionally some day. It's a different dream to the childhood fantasy that was all winning matches and victory parades. It would be different to taking over on the Gryffindor team. If she gets there, it will be earned.

"All right," Gwenog bellows. "Some of you are wool-gathering. We'll take a break now. Just long enough to nip to the loo and down a cup of tea, mind. I don't know what you were all doing over the weekend. I don't want to know, frankly." She glares at her fellow Beater, who apparently went to Caernarfon and was lucky to come back in one piece. "But we need to step it up if we don't look like rank amateurs next weekend."

Next weekend and the thought of the local derby against the Caerphilly Catapults sends a thrill coursing through Ginny's veins. Even as she lands on the soggy pitch, she can't wait to be back up in the air, flying again.


End file.
